


Trust in Mystery

by devilinthedetails



Series: The Ties that Bind [2]
Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Duty, Father & Son - Freeform, Gen, Knight & Squire, Mystery, Obedience, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 12:22:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12748233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilinthedetails/pseuds/devilinthedetails
Summary: Roald and Jonathan discuss Roald's future.





	Trust in Mystery

Trust in Mystery

Except for Roald and the horses, the stables where the pages kept their mounts were empty, which was exactly the sort of solitude that Roald had ventured there after dinner to find. The pages—Roald still had to remind himself that he was no longer among their number—were all in their rooms studying, and his fellow new squires were clearly taking advantage of their free time while it lasted to do more exciting things than come down to the stables to pet their horses. 

Before he was made a squire, Roald, whose entire life felt almost stiflingly structured from sunrise to lights-out, had imagined that he would relish the free time—the space in between when he was made a squire and when he entered service under a knightmaster (who, of course, would be his father, so, unlike his peers, there was no anguishing for him over who would pick him or if he would be chosen at all)—but his discipline was too overpowering to allow him to deviate from an intense training regimen with his year-mates, all of whom were fiercely competitive as they vied to earn the attention of the knights assembled around the fences of the practice courts to evaluate the new crop of squires for one to take into their service. 

Those knights had stared at Roald, judging him not for his potential as a squire but as a future king, which was a thousand times more terrifying. He knew they didn’t just want to see that he was strong and not a weakling. They also longed for assurance that he was respectful, not rude; humble, not arrogant; hardworking, not lazy; and calm, not emotionally unstable. They wanted to see firsthand that their heir wouldn’t be a pushover or a tyrant. 

They had a right to evaluate their future king, Roald thought, but that didn’t change the fact that at the end of a interminable day of being scrutinized, Roald craved the refuge of the stables and the easy silence Shadow created for him where responsibilities and politics faded like a mirage for as long as his fingers combed through Shadow’s midnight mane. 

“I just wonder what they see when they look at me, Shadow,” Roald whispered because Mama had taught him that horses could be talked to as if they were people and sometimes made even more trustworthy confidants as they never spilled the secrets you told them. Secrets and silence, Roald believed, were more important to royalty than gold and gemstones. Pulling a carrot from the pocket of his breeches, he held it out to Shadow, who began to chomp away at it with gusto. “What if they think I’m weak or haughty. I need to know that, but nobody would ever tell me because I’m the prince, and people never say anything that might be offensive to a prince.” 

Shadow eyed Roald placidly as he continued to devour the carrot, and Roald took a peculiar solace in being perceived by his beloved, even-tempered but ferociously protective gelding as merely the one who dispensed treats, which maybe wasn’t so different from how the knights at the practice courts had regarded him. When Shadow finished the carrot, he lapped Roald’s outstretched palm with his tongue, begging for more food, and the scratchiness of his tongue startled a laugh from Roald. 

He was still laughing when a figured appeared in the stall doorway, and before Roald could turn around to glance back to discover to who had joined him, his father’s voice said, “Roald, I thought I might find you here.” 

“Your Majesty.” Roald bowed while trying to subtly swipe the horse saliva off his hand and onto his breeches. “Good evening.” 

“Come now.” Papa opened his arms in an invitation for an embrace. “I want a hug from you, son, not a bow. I can get a bow from anyone.” 

“You can get a hug from anyone, too, Papa,” Roald pointed out even as he wrapped himself around his father. “You’re the king. You could just go around commanding people to hug you.” 

“Love can’t be commanded.” Papa ruffled Roald’s hair. “Besides, I don’t want a hug from just anyone. I want a hug from my son.” 

Roald lingered in his father’s arms for a moment before easing out of the embrace as Papa remarked, “I hoped to talk to you, Roald.” 

“I’m listening, Papa.” Roald assumed his most attentive posture, figuring that this was probably when Papa was going to formally ask him to be his squire. 

“You’re a squire now.” Papa clasped Roald’s shoulder. “Have you thought about who should be your knightmaster?” 

“It’s the knightmaster who chooses the squire.” Roald’s forehead knotted as he repeated an ancient aphorism. 

“Yes, but it’s the squire who accepts the knightmaster.” Papa’s mouth twisted wryly. “Somehow the second part of the saying is frequently forgotten.” 

“The squire has to receive an offer in order to accept it, Papa,” Roald reminded him. 

He thought that gave Papa the perfect opportunity to ask him to be his squire, but instead Papa said, “It’s tradition for the king to take the Crown Prince as his squire and teach him everything he knows, but I feel that I’ve taught you as much as I can about the responsibilities of ruling.” 

“You don’t want me as your squire?” Roald bit his lip, unable to prevent the hurt from seeping into his tone or the disappointment from sinking across his face. He had been looking forward to spending more time with his father, and instead he was going to be foisted on some knight like an unwanted burden. It was a humiliating rejection and Roald wondered how he had failed as a son to deserve it. “You don’t believe I’ll be a good squire?” 

“I expect you to be a good squire.” Papa gave Roald’s shoulders a slight shake as he often did when he wished to emphasize a standard of behavior he expected Roald to adhere to. “Just not to me. I would be happy to have you as my squire, Roald, but I want what is best for you more than I want you as my squire. What’s best for you is that you have more room to grow than you would at court, that you see more of the realm, and that you have an opportunity to build connections in a key part of our kingdom that you will need when you rule.” 

“You have a knight in mind for me, Papa.” Roald shot a sidelong glance at his father as he tried to control his anxiety about who the mystery knight Papa had picked for him would be. He had to trust in the wisdom of his father’s selection, he told himself. It would be like an arranged marriage only without the romance and with a duration of four years rather than eternity. If he had faith in his father to choose his bride, then he had to believe that Papa would also entrust him to the tutelage of the right knight. It was that simple and that complicated as faith always was in Roald’s experience. 

“I do but you’ll have to wait to discover who it is.” Papa’s blue eyes sparkled with humor. “Some mystery strengthens the soul, son.” 

Roald might have argued—because the suspense of whom Papa had arranged for him to squire with was already torturing him—that he couldn’t agree to serve whoever his father had chosen if he didn’t know the knight’s name but he unfortunately understood that the only knight who would ask him to be his squire would be the one Papa had made a plan with in advance since no other knight would be aware that he was available. 

“I’ll serve whoever you picked out for me, Papa,” Roald promised dutifully, because he could never have resisted his father in a matter as significant as whom he squired for. After all, the Code of Ten commanded all children to obey and honor their fathers as a subject would a king and cursed those who failed to obey and honor their fathers. It wasn’t written into the Code of Ten but Roald had always supposed that a rebellious prince was doubly damned for defying a father who was an anointed king. “I’ll be loyal to him and to you.” 

“Good boy.” Papa patted Roald’s back before adding sternly, “You’ll obey your knightmaster as you would me and keep your Conte stubbornness to a minimum. Understand?” 

“Yes, Papa.” Mortified that Papa would even feel the need to mention this—though he had provided practically the same strict warning about obeying Lord Wyldon before Roald started his page training four years ago—Roald scuffed his shoes through the straw on the stable floor. “Don’t worry. I’lll be the best squire any knight could ask for. I’ll do my duty, and I won’t embarrass myself or you, I swear.” 

“I know.” Papa squeezed the nape of Roald’s neck in reassurance. “As your father, it was just my duty to say that to you, son.” 

Taking comfort in Papa’s affectionate gesture and confidence in his ability not to disgrace his family, Roald asked, “If you aren’t taking me as your squire, who are you choosing?” 

“I haven’t decided yet.” Papa stroked his beard. “What do you think of Zahir ibn Alhaz?” 

“He’s the best in our year at riding, he’s a skilled archer, and he’s cunning with his sword.” Roald was quick to give credit where it was due even if he did find Zahir an enigma. It was only fair that Roald acknowledge Zahir’s talents and accomplishments. “He’s a proud if inscrutable Bazhir though you must know that better than I do as the Voice.” 

“I wouldn’t say so. He hasn’t participated in the nightly communion with the Voice since he came to the palace,” mused Papa. “That is a mystery that intrigues me, I confess.” 

“The real mystery is why he stopped hazing younger pages even though it cost him friends,” Roald commented before he could think about whether his words were appropriate. 

“If he sacrificed his friendships for what’s right, that’s true courage,” Papa said, and Roald though that true courage had actually been Keladry of Mindelan daring to speak out against hazing when everyone else had wanted to keep it silent and secret. Sometimes there was strength in silence and secrets, but sometimes there was weakness in it. That was a balance Roald was still struggling to learn.


End file.
